


sheer as gauze

by Poose, seven_hells (Poose)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clothing, Gen, Short, Siblings, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 18:55:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446399
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/Poose, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Poose/pseuds/seven_hells
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon and Sansa in the Free Cities; Sansa wears sheer gowns, and Jon is troubled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sheer as gauze

A heavy weight had been lifted from Jon Snow's shoulders. For one, he no longer had to cloak himself in heavy furs and boiled leather. He had shed his blacks when he went south to free Sansa. The Dragon Queen who now sat the Iron Throne gave him a pardon, as well as a birthright he had little reason to doubt.    
  
When summer returned to Westeros they sailed east from Sunspear to the Free Cities to seek Arya, who was still his little sister. They were greeted in Pentos by Magister Illyrio, by order of the queen.    
  
Dawn was cool, and they breakfasted on the terrace. Sweet rolls and juice from oranges dark as blood, clusters of hyacinth on the table that matched the dark indigo of Sansa's eyes. Illyrio gifted her with gowns in the style of Essos, in pale guazy fabrics that trailed behind her as she walked to the table. The morning breezes off the sea were strong and cool, and Jon found himself trying not to look when one gusted so strongly it sent Sansa's napkin fluttering to the floor.    
  
It was of no use, because as he went to retrieve it another breeze came, sending her peach skirt swirling up past her knees. Jon smelt the ocean between her legs, and stood up abruptly, banging his head on the table.    
  
"My lady," he said, handing her the napkin. "I must bid you leave." His voice felt thick in his throat.    
  
"Of course," she said, as gracious as ever. "I will expect you this evening."    
  
During the day Jon would frequent ale houses and brothels for the sole purpose of finding where his once-sister-now-cousin had gone.   
  
When he returned in the thick heat of the late afternoon he stripped off his sweaty clothes and called for a bath. He would sponge himself clean in the cool water. If his hand quickened when he imagined the curve of Sansa's perfect breast, outlined as clear as day through the gauze of her dress, the nipple dark and hardening with each gust of wind, he was hardly to blame. 

Jon Snow had never paid much heed to ladies' fashions until now, and he wondered if the furs of the North had not been quite so bad, after all.


End file.
